Forgotten Memories
øøø
Emotions were part of being a human. Without emotions, humans were no longer humans, just containers made out of oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, calcium, and phosphorus, and various other compounds.
Emotions were important, yet at the same time, insignificant.
And yet, those were the only thing that she seemed to lack ever since that day. That day, nine years ago, where she had visited the museum. She could not remember much from that day, and had found herself standing in front of a painting, known as the Fabricated World, without a single memory of what had happened prior to her arriving there. Her parents brushed it off simply as a child's foolish fantasies. Ib knew well enough that it was not. Even then, at the age of nine she was more thoughtful, perhaps, than the average adult. Something nagged at her. Something about Guertena's artwork. Something telling her that she had forgotten something. Something really important.
It seemed like a dream, and a dream that she must remember. And she tried. Every night following that day, she would have the same dream, and end up waking up covered in cold sweat. Yet, she could never remember what the dream was about, no matter how many times she had it. The only thing she remembered was she had left behind something. She had left behind something very important in that dream. Something that she must not forget.
And yet, she could never remember.
Ib looked normal to any average human being. Barely anyone - not even her parents - were ever able to tell that she was uncomfortable. That there was something wrong with her. Each and every passing day of those years that passed revolved around that box in her mind that she could never open. The box filled with precious memories of a single day. It was like Pandora's box, right in her hands. She felt like she finally knew how Pandora felt when the box was placed in her care. The urge to open it was there, although in Ib's case there seemed to be no indication that trouble would befall her or the world if she were to open it.
Perhaps that was only on the surface, and her subconscious was forcing it shut to protect her. Ib did not care. She just wanted to know.
And as she awoke from the latest recurring nightmare, she realised what she should have done long ago. Something extraordinarily simple, yet painfully hard.
Guertena's art gallery.
She must return.
øøø
She had abhorred art galleries ever since that day. She did not know why, but a piece of art can cause her to suffer seizures, headaches, spasms and the like. There was no actual definition of what exactly causes this, nor was there a definite criteria that the artwork must hit to cause this to happen. It just happened, a natural reaction of her body. Something that Ib was utterly unable to control, nor comprehend at that. Art galleries were the worst of them all. Filled to the brim with all different types of art, there were many that could affect her. The larger the number, the worse her condition gets.
It is said that the body still remembers even when the mind forgets.
The thought that this phobia of hers may have something to do with her lost memories - there was a need for her to find out whether this was the case or not. Guertena's art gallery was where everything started. Ib somehow knew this. She did not know how, but that was what she felt. Rushing headfirst into Guertena's art gallery was not a wise idea, especially with her current condition. If she entered the area recklessly, who knew what might happen? Something not particularly pleasant, that was for sure.
And yet, at the same time, Ib also knew that if she continued to avoid the place of her nightmares, she would never arrive at the answer that she had always been searching for. The reason why she had always felt so empty, so lacking, so... unhuman. Even though this was just a possibility, an unknown, something that she could barely confirm, Ib had to admit that she was curious. Curious not just about her memories but also what might happen if she found out what happened that day, nine years ago.
They say that curiosity killed the cat.
But did it, really?
øøø
"Ib, please do try to put some emotion into your music. No matter how well you seem to play it, it seems as though you are just playing for the sheer sake of playing. "
Ib nodded, mostly just so that the middle-aged female would shut up.
"I don't think you understand, Ib. Take the piece you are playing right now. Chopin's "Minute Waltz". It is a piece that, not only places emphasis on speed, but much more on the light, carefree feeling that the pianist must be able to draw out from each of the notes. For your playing, there is simply nothing. You are just like a robot moving its fingers! That should not be the case!"
A bird landed on the nearby tree branch, chirping as another swirled around it, singing a high pitched, but pleasant tune.
"Ib. Ib, are you listening?"
Ib stared at the well-endowed female.
"No."
The brunette looked at the pianist with crimson eyes for another moment or two, then walked out of the room without so much as a single word, not turning back even when threats regarding her parents were screamed out behind her. There was no reason to stay. She never really wanted to play. She was only coerced into it by her parents, and only continued for the same reason. If she was told to change something that took too much work, she could, and would easily drop it. There was no reason for her to continue, because she lacked even the slightest bit of interest from the very beginning.
Irritation coursed through her as the words of the female echoed through her head, and begun to sink in. It was not as though she was able to control her own emotions. She was not able to put in emotion simply because she felt nothing. It was just that. Ib could not simply force herself to play whatever emotion that was required. It would sound even worse - it would sound fearfully fake. It was the same for everything else. It was the same for people. For animals. For everything.
Just like her music, she felt empty.
That was how she led the past nine years of her life. Living as an empty shell. A lifeless puppet. Nothing more than that. Perhaps less. A painting seeking life. Perhaps that is one correct way to put it.
If she retrieved her memories, the memories of that day, memories that she may not wish to remember in the end, will she become slightly more real then?
øøø
"...If you need help...I'll come running..."
"Who are you?"
"Go on... ahead..."
"Wait! Don't leave me behind!"
"..."
"Don't go!"
"..."
"?!"
øøø
Tonight's dream was slightly different. For one, she could remember, not all, a single segment of it at the very least. For two, well, it was slightly different this time round. Rather than a mere nightmare like all the others had been, this seemed more like a normal dream. A normal, heart wrenching dream. A dream of someone important... that she cannot remember. Ib found herself in tears, crying out a name as she was jolted out of her dream. A name that she could no longer remember. A name that she should have been able to remember. A name that was dear to her. A name that she should not forget.
She could only sit on her bed, staring at the deep blue wall opposite her as tears rolled down her face uncontrollably, as though looking at it would help her remember. Rubbing away the remnants of her tears off, she knew well what she needed to do.
That gallery. Guertena's art gallery.
She must go. She must know. She must find out.
And if not now, when?
øøø
The gallery appeared to have not changed the slightest from how she had remembered nine years ago. The only changes were, perhaps, the people. Even each of the different pieces of art appeared to have been placed in the exact same positions as they had been at that time, from what she could see from the counter.
Her head had begun to throb, goosebumps rising from her skin. The back of her neck prickled, as though warning her of the dangers ahead. Ib swallowed the lump in her throat, taking a deep breath in as well in an attempt to calm her heart down. She did not want to stay for even another second longer in this place, but she had to. She had gone as far as to sneak into the dungeon filled with her detestable enemies, in the middle of the night. There was no way that she would simply return home now.
Ib decided to begin from the second floor.
Up the steps she went, the white surface a shade of murky gray from the lack of light. The gleam of light off a glass panel welcomed her with open arms. How a plain piece of glass could seem so nostalgic, Ib did not know, and yet there was still that feeling that something startling had once happened with it. Then, there was also that voice in her head that repeatedly told her to "REMEMBER".
Guertena's works were known for being eccentric. They were said to be so piled up with emotions from the artist himself that they would break out of the picture frame given the chance. Filled with so much emotion, that they seemed to be alive. They were probably much more alive than she had been for the past few years of her life.
The first painting still gave her that undeniable sense of dread that she felt around any painting that was deemed 'worthy' enough.. The back of her neck felt cold, her nerves stretched taut, as though her body was preparing her for something dangerous to come. Sixty-three seconds were the most she could handle, before the air felt as though it was strangling her. Ib crouched down on the cold ground, rubbing her arms desperately to rid herself of the goosebumps and the cold that had suddenly enveloped her. Her instincts were on high alert. It reminded her so much of that time, nine years ago...
Nine years ago?
... When the museum emptied out after she examined that painting...
What painting?
... When strange things started happening one after another...
What strange things?
... Where her life was determined by a flower..?
YOU AND THE ROSE ARE ?. KNOW THE WEIGHT OF YOUR OWN LIFE.
WHEN THE ROSE ?S, SO TOO WILL YOU ? AWAY.
Rose...?
There was a dull pain running through her body. Something was calling to her. Something... or someone..?
Her head hurt. It felt as though someone was carving it open with a metal ruler. Like someone was inside her mind, hammering away at the inside of her skull, trying to break out. Someone...
The second painting. The "Forgotten Portrait". It depicted a man. A man no older than her now. A man who is sleeping. Sleeping... peacefully.
? is sleeping.
He said he would come for me if I was in trouble.
That's why it is impossible for him to be dead.
He promised, that's why.
He promised we would get out together.
Out of this cursed place.
That we would go and get macaroons together after that.
The sweet hamburgers that he loved.
He promised.
He won't lie.
He doesn't lie.
He would never lie.
Never.
Never.
Never.
That's why.
That's why he can't be dead.
He won't lie.
Not to me.
"Who... are you?"
Cracked voices. Damp cheeks. Painful cries. Silent screams.
"Why... why can't I remember?"
Forgotten Memories.
øøø
Do you remember me now?
It's ok if you don't... Ib.
Just know that... I'll be here.
I'll always be here for you..
Even if you don't remember.
I'm always here.
And always will be.
[私はずっとここに居る]
[ずっと，あなたのそばに居る]
- EnD -
Bits and Pieces :
ø Some say that curiosity killed the cat. Other claim that ignorance was the true culprit. Just felt like saying that.
ø I have absolutely no experience in the world of music, therefore I am really sorry if I wrote something out of place/makes no sense.
ø The last two lines of Japanese were just added in on a whim. Don't mind it. But if you do, it roughly translates to "I will always be here. Always, by your side."
ø This fic is basically based of the idea that while the mind forgets, the body still remembers, though I don't suppose that really played out right.
ø The ending is really rushed. Seems really sucky. Then again I suck at endings. So IDK.
ø The site messed up the layout D: I edited this three times and it's still not working ):